He could not. He could not surrender to this; he would rather die … and he heard some curious remote little voice in his mind say die, then, if it is so important to you.And he felt something like a giant swing to take him, toss him high, further out into nowhere with every swooping breath, seeing stars, atoms, strange vibrations, the very rhythm of the universe—or was it his own brain cells vibrating, madly out of control?

He’d done this to himself, he knew. He’d let it happen, too much of a coward to face himself.

Call out to Dani, that inner voice said. He’ll help you, even now, if you ask him. But you’ll have to ask, you’ve made it impossible for him to come to you again unless you call him. Call quickly, quickly, while you still can!

I can’t—

He felt his breathing begin to come in gasps, as if he hung somewhere in the far spaces which were all he could see now, with every breath coming for an instant back to that struggling, dimming body lying inert on the shelf. Quickly! Call out now for help or you will die, here and now with everything left undone because of your pride …

With the last of his strength Regis fought for enough voice to shout, call aloud. It came out as the faintest of stifled whispers.

“Dani … help me … ”

Too late, he thought, and felt himself slide off into nothingness. He wondered, with desperate regret, if he was dying … because he could not bear to be honest with himself, with his friend …

He swung in darkness, immobile, numb, paralyzed. He felt Danilo, only a dim blue haze through his closed eyes, bending over him, fumbling at his tunic-laces. He could not even feel Danilo’s hands except that they were at his throat. He thought insanely, Is he going to kill me?

Without warning his body convulsed in a spasm of the most hideous pain he had ever known. He was thereagain, Danilo’s face visible through a reddish blood-colored mist, standing over him, his hand just touching the matrix around Regis’ neck. Regis said hoarsely, “No. Not again—” and felt the bone-cracking spasm return. Danilo dropped the matrix as if it burned him and the hellish pain subsided. Regis lay gasping. It felt as if he had fallen into the fire.

Danilo gasped, “Forgive me—I thought you were dying! I knew no other way to reach your mind … ” Carefully, without touching it, Danilo covered the matrix again. He dropped down on the stone bed beside Regis, as if his knees were too weak to hold him upright.

“Regis, Regis, I thought you were dying—”

Regis whispered, “I thought so too.”

“I told myself, if I let you die because I could not forgive a harsh word, then I was a disgrace to my father and all those who had served Hastur. I am a catalyst telepath, there had to be somethingI could do to reach you—I shouted and you didn’t hear, I slapped and pinched you, I thought you were dead already, but I could feelyou calling me … ” He was entirely unstrung.

Regis whispered, “What was it that you did? I felt you—”

“I touched the matrix—nothing else seemed to reach you, I was so sure you were dying—” He broke down and sobbed. “I could have killed you! I could have killed you!”

Regis drew Danilo down beside him, holding him tight in his arms. “ Bredu, don’t cry,” he whispered. “See, I’m not dead.” He felt suddenly shy again. Danilo’s face, wet with tears, was pressed against his cheek. Regis patted it clumsily. “Don’t cry any more.”

“But I hurt you so—I can’t bear to hurt you,” Danilo said wildly.

“I don’t think anything less would have brought me back,” Regis said. “It’s my life I owe you this time, bredu.” He was still dizzy and aching with the aftermath of what he now knew must have been a convulsion. Later he was to learn that this last-resort heroic treatment, gripping a matrix, was used only at the point of death; when stronger telepaths determined that without it, the sufferer might wander endlessly in the corridors of his own brain, cutting off all outside stimuli, until he died. Danilo had done it by pure instinct. Now Regis remembered what Javanne had said. “I’ve got to get up and move around or it may come back. But you’ll have to help me, Dani, I’m too weak to walk alone.”

Danilo helped him upright. By the last light of the dying fire Regis could see the tears on his face. He kept his arm around Regis, steadying him. “I should never have quarreled with you when you were sick.”

“It was I who picked the quarrel, Dani. Can you forgive me?”

He was cruel to Dani out of fear, Regis knew, fear of what he was himself. Perhaps Dyan, too, turned to cruelty out of fear and came at last to prefer cruelty to fear—or to shame—at knowing himself too well.

Laranwas terrible. But they had no choice, only to meet it with honor.

Danilo said shyly, “I kept your porridge hot for you. Can you try to eat it now?”

Regis took the hot pottery pannikin, burning his fingers a little on the edges. The thought of food made him feel sick, but obediently he chewed a few mouthfuls and discovered that he was actually very hungry. He ate the hot unsweetened stuff, saying after a time, “Well, it’s no worse than what we got in barracks. If you ever find yourself a masterless man, Dani, we’ll get you a job as an army cook.”

“God forbid I should be a masterless man while you live, Regis.”

Regis reached for Danilo’s hand, holding it tight. He felt exhausted and aching, but at peace. He finished the porridge and Danilo took the bowl away to rinse it out. Regis lay down on the shelf again. The fire was dying down and it was cold. Danilo came and spread out his own cloak and blanket beside Regis, sat beside him, pulling off his boots.

“I wish I knew more about threshold sickness.”

“Be damn glad you don’t,” Regis said harshly, “it’s hell. I hope you never have it.”

“Oh, I hadit,” Dani said. “I know now that’s what it must have been when I began … reading minds. There was no one to tell me what it was, and I never had it so seriously. The trouble is, I don’t know what to do about it. Or I could help you.” He looked at Regis hestitantly in the dim light and said, “We’re still in rapport a little. Let me try.”

“Do what you want to,” Regis said, “I won’t drive you away again. Only be careful. Your last experiment was painful.”

“I did find out one thing,” Danilo said. “I could see and feel things. There’s a kind of … of energy. Look.” He bent over Regis, running his fingertips lightly above his body, not touching him. “I can feel it this way, without touching you, and certain places it’s strong, and others I feel it ought to be and isn’t … I don’t know how to explain it. Do you feel it?”

Regis remembered the very little the leronishad told him when she tested him, unsuccessfully, for laran. “There are certain … energy centers in the body, which waken with the wakening of laran. Everybody has them, but in a telepath they’re stronger and more … perceptible. If that’s true, you should have them, too.” He reached out toward Danilo, running his hands over his face, feeling the definite, tangible flow of power. “Yes, it’s like an … an extra pulsebeat here, just above your brow.” He had once been shown a drawing of these currents, but at that time he had no reason to believe it applied to him. Now he struggled to remember, sensing it must be important. “There’s one at the base of the throat.”

“Yes, I can see it,” Danilo said, touching it lightly with a fingertip. The touch was not painful, but Regis felt it like a faint, definite electric shock. Yet once he was fully aware of the pulse, his perceptions cleared and the dizziness which had been with him for weeks now seemed to clear and shift somehow. He felt that he had discovered something very important, but he didn’t know what. Danilo went on, trying to trace out the flows of power with his fingertips. “I don’t really have to touch you to feel them. I seem to know—”